


Go the spoils

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Knife Play, M/M, Oral, Spoilers for 3.16, could be read as non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 21:27:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10817094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: Gabe sells Oswald to the highest bidder and he gets bought by an anonymous person. Inspired by a prompt on tumblr.





	Go the spoils

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all! You don't need to read it to enjoy this fic, but it's something of a sequel to this: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10730316 so if you want Ed's perspective on things, there it is! Enjoy!

It was freezing in the trunk of the car. Oswald Cobblepot lay on his side with his shoulders hunched up and his arms wound tight around his bent legs, bound hands buried beneath his knees. There were multiple tools banging around the trunk with him, which had thus far proven completely useless in his efforts to remove his bindings. It was only his wrist they’d done, securing them together with rope, but that was still one binding too much for him to be able to effectively protect himself from whoever it was that had bought him.

Oswald hadn’t heard the final bid, but he knew it was somewhere in the low hundred thousands. He had, privately, hoped he would be worth more than that. After all, you could sell a liver for over one hundred thousand on the black market, and a kidney for over two – shouldn’t he have been worth _at least_ a million? The price paid seemed like a steal. Gabe and his companions profit would have been significantly more had they simply harvested his organs, though obviously he was by no means upset by their decision to sell him whole rather than in pieces.

The vehicle jumped abruptly and Oswald was jostled into what felt like a toolbox. A sharp corner smacked him in the jaw. It was a momentary pain, and Oswald recovered his wits quickly, utilizing the toolbox as a scratching post for his cheek. It had been itching incessantly ever since Ivy had slathered that pungent concoction of hers onto him. His face felt as though she’d slapped him, when in actuality it had been more like a _pat_ on the cheek, perhaps intended as a condescending gesture to accompany her storming out. He hoped she hadn’t poisoned him in some manner.

When he had satisfied his need to scratch, he rested his head against the floor of the trunk and listened to the heavy hum of the engine. It didn’t sound very reliable. If this was the only quality of car Gabe could afford, no wonder he had opted to sell Oswald instead of merely killing him as most were wont to do in his position.

At some point – he couldn’t say when, exactly, because he was having a hard time following his own train of thoughts – he started to plot. He passed the lengthy car drive by considering every possible scenario and concocting plans of escape for each one. He wasn’t the man he used to be, complacent to cower and bleed in the trunk of a vehicle and await his demise with a sense of inevitability. He had every intention of getting out of this alive.

It wouldn’t be the first time he’d evaded death by the skin of his teeth. Perhaps lady luck could extend him one more miracle.

After being trapped in the cold, dark depths of a trunk for so long, he was relieved rather than apprehensive when the car finally came to a stop. Doors unlocked and people lumbered out. Oswald didn’t have to wait long before the trunk rose and great streaks of sunlight lashed his face, disorientating him enough that he only managed to offer token resistance before being dragged out into the street by his gaudy sweater.

When the ache in his eyes finally subsided, he was surprised to find himself standing before a derelict apartment complex. It didn't appear to have many occupants, and he suspected those who did live there were too busy overdosing to notice anything amiss.

“They live here?” He turned to Gabe, bewildered. “How do you know they’re going to give you your money?”

“They already wired it,” answered Gave, giving him a shove onto the footpath, which was equally as neglected as the building it led to.

Why someone with enough money to purchase a human being would live _here_ , Oswald didn’t know. If he listened hard enough, he was sure he could hear someone peddling drugs within its walls.

The barrel of Gabe’s gun buried itself into the grimy tufts of hair at the back of his head. He hadn’t bathed in some weeks. Something he didn’t particularly mind, as he would have loathed to find out Ivy had been giving him sponge baths while he was unconscious. It was disconcerting enough that she had _undressed_ him.

The pressure of the gun urged him forward. He hobbled up a few stone steps and into the reception area of the complex, unsurprised to find the front desk unmanned. There were a few cockroaches scurrying across the length of the reception counter, which Oswald wrinkled his nose at.

The elevator was blocked off with a very old, yellowing ‘undergoing maintenance’ sign, so up the stairs Oswald went, climbing higher and higher with the barrel of Gabe’s gun sliding haphazardly over the back of his skull. He started to wish a large variety of prolonged, gruesome deaths on his buyer when he was told their destination was the very top of the building. Clearly the person who had bought him was a masochist, as there was no other explanation for why anyone would choose to live on the top floor of an apartment complex that didn’t have a working elevator.

He was uncomfortably sweaty by the time he reached the top, and his cheek stung worse than ever.

The door they stopped at had a keypad on the frame. Considering how debilitated the rest of the building was, it was more sophistication than Oswald had expected.

Oswald was forced to face away while Gabe pressed in a long series of numbers, muttering under his breath that the code was ‘excessively long’.

The door swung open. Oswald turned back around when he heard it creak on its hinges and balked in surprise.

What lay beyond the door was beautiful and pristine, completely at odds with its ruinous location. Not a single blemish could be seen on the dark green walls, and the wood flooring appeared perfectly laminated, seeming to shimmer beneath the glow of the overhead lights. There were modest furnishings, basic necessities that made the room look like something out of a housing magazine. Though it was only one room, it was among the nicest apartments Oswald had ever seen.

But it was empty. No sign of life. Whoever his host was, they hadn’t yet deigned to meet the man they had purchased.

“Who is it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Gabe. “Who bought me?”

Gabe nudged him inside. “We’ll let you find out for yourself.” He was forced past the threshold and enveloped by a wonderful warmth. The apartment was heated, too, on top of everything else.

Oswald glanced around while he was led into a similarly pristine bathroom and still saw no sign of his host. What he did see, however, was a pair of his own clothes neatly folded on the edge of the sink. They’d even remembered to select a tie for him.

He wasn’t tied to anything, much to his surprise. In fact, Gabe removed his bindings before he left the room, dismissing him with little more than a wave of his hand.

The door shut securely behind Gabe, and as he was untied, Oswald wasn’t at all surprised to find the door locked when he tried to pull it open.

So he was locked in the bathroom with a neat pile of his own clothes.

Oswald was starting to suspect he’d been bought by an ally. An _impudent_ ally, he thought, frowning down at the locked door.

He made a few attempts to break down the door before it became apparent it was too sturdy to be damaged by the mere weight of his body. Trying to loosen the hinges turned out to be similarly futile. Clearly he wouldn’t be getting out until someone _let_ him out, so he decided he would get dressed.

Whatever challenges laid ahead, he would face them with dignity, not in the gaudy sweater Ivy had lent him.

He was in the process of zipping up the provided slacks when the bathroom door swung open. Fortunately, he’d already put on everything else.

Edward Nygma, of all people, stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and dressed in a shimmering green suit. Oswald returned the expression of shock, looking him up and down, hardly believing what he was seeing.

He’d only been gone a few weeks. What in the world had Edward been doing?

More importantly, what was the closest object Oswald could smash his deceptive little face in with? A shampoo bottle? Hm… no, too weak, but if he got in close enough maybe he could –

Ah, Edward had a gun. Of course he did.

It was pointed at the very same place Edward had shot a few weeks prior.

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said Edward quietly.

Oswald loathed how _calm_ he sounded. He was being faced with his dead best friend; couldn’t he at least muster up a _tremor_?

His lips pulled back in a scowl. “Only you could fail to kill someone at point-blank range.”

Edward response to this comment was to merely stare at him, hand white-knuckled around his gun.

Oswald quickly grew impatient and uncomfortable under the intensity of his gaze. “Well, what’re you waiting for?” he asked. “Are you going to shoot me again, Ed? Finish the job?”

“I wasn’t sure if it would actually be you. I thought…”

“You grabbed my clothes, spent thousands on buying me, and you didn’t even know it was going to be me?”

“If it _was_ you, I didn’t want to chance seeing you in those... _other_ clothes,” said Edward monotonously. “And it wasn’t my money.”

“So you’ve been spending _my_ money, that _I_ inherited from my deceased father, whose grave you _pilfered_?” asked Oswald, and when Edward nodded, Oswald sorely wished he could have broken his nose. All those earlier thoughts of killing his host paled in comparison to the current malicious plots forming in his mind.

“I didn’t think you had much use for it, being where you were.”

Oswald’s eye twitched. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth, hands fisted at his sides.

“You had no right.”

“You’re supposed to be dead,” said Edward again, and Oswald was given the impression that he wasn’t quite all there, because he seemed to be having trouble focusing his gaze.

His eyes were heavily bagged. How long had it been since he had slept?

Despite himself, Oswald hoped this sudden onset of insomnia was occurring as a consequence of murdering his best friend.

“Well, I’m not, clearly.” Oswald spread his hands. “So, what are you going to do?”

Edward slowly lowered the gun, letting it rest against a thigh. “I… don’t know.”  

“Last time I heard that, you still shot me.”

“Be quiet for a minute,” Edward snapped, shaking his head. He pressed his free hand to his heavily bagged eyes. “I’m trying to _think_.”

“Fine, as long as you’re not concocting _another_ convoluted revenge scheme.”

Edward regarded him dispassionately. “There’s no need to inflict revenge twice. But you being alive, it’s…” He dragged his hand up, under his bowler hat and though his neatly combed hair, and took a step into the cool depths of the bathroom, raising his gun again. “You shouldn’t be alive while Isabella is dead.”

“You’re _still_ going on about her?” Oswald snarled, barring his teeth as he advanced on Edward, uncaring of the gun. He’d already been shot once and almost died; what had he left to fear?

He pushed his face right up into Edward’s. “It’s her _own fault_ she’s dead! I warned her; I told her I wasn’t a man to be trifled with and she gave me _cheek_. I’ll happily go to my grave telling you she got what she _deserved_!”

It took him a moment to realize Edward’s face and posture had gone slack. There was a strange, glazed look in his eyes, like he was staring past Oswald rather than at him. The gun threatened to slip from his limp fingers.

It was as thought he’d simply shut down, completely absence of self.

Oswald had no idea what the hell was happening and it frightened him. He retreated a step, knocking his thigh on the sink.

“Ed?”

“Yes, Oswald?” He spoke in a soft, eager tone, one Oswald was intimately familiar with. He’d heard it almost every day while working as mayor.

Oswald swallowed. “What happened? Why’re you acting like this?”

“I smelt something,” was Edward immediate answer.

“You… you smelt something?”

“On your face.”

The stinging in his cheek started to register again, and with it came the realization that whatever was happening to Ed, it was _Ivy’s_ doing. Hadn’t she said something about being able to control people back in the greenhouse? He couldn’t quite recall, but there was evidence of that ability right here regardless.

“Nygma,” he said slowly, tentatively. “Remove your hat and drop it on the ground.”

Edward did so.

A broad smile grew on Oswald’s lips.

How fortuitous. The man he’d been intending to enact revenge upon was standing right before him, ready and willing to do whatever he asked.

“Nygma,” he said again, with growing excitement. “If you have any ropes or handcuffs in this apartment, bring them to me.”

Edward went to fulfill his given task without a word. Oswald followed at his heels, and there might have been a bounce in his step had he a fluid enough gait for it.

Edward didn’t have any ropes or handcuffs; what he did have was a spool of wire with a soft plastic covering, which would suffice for Oswald’s purposes.

He instructed Edward to remove his jacket and vest, then had him lie down on his stomach while he tied his forearms together. He proceed to do the same thing to Edward’s legs, but coiled the wire around each of his thighs instead, forcing Edward into a permanent kneel. When he was finished, he knew Edward wouldn’t be running from retribution anytime soon.

Edward wasn’t cognizant right now and there was no fun in that, so Oswald washed his face in the kitchen sink, selected a nice, sharp knife from the washing rack, and sat himself upon Edward’s desk to wait.

Edward continued to kneel where Oswald had left him. He looked rather nice down there, kneeling… people Oswald hated always did look nicest on their knees, but there was something indefinitely more appealing about a man like Edward Nygma, a man with a ludicrously large ego and sense of pride, being forced to kneel. He never would have done it voluntarily, not like those peons who fell to their knees the moment their life was in danger.

But egoism was a dangerous thing, and Edward had that in spades. It would lead him to ruin if he wasn’t careful.

Oswald licked his lips, tasting salt. Perhaps he ought to take on the role of Edward’s teacher again and teach him some humility. It would do him good.  

He wouldn’t kill him. Not yet and not here, in any case; Oswald would just… _teach_.

He stared out a nearby window and watched the sun descend out of view. Ivy’s concoction must have been _very_ potent, because it was well over an hour before Edward began to stir.

A soft groan fell from his lips and Edward attempted to stretch his limbs, which led to him falling flat on the floor, landing on his chest. The impact seemed to jar him out of his disorientation.

“Wh…” He glanced down at himself, at the wire coiled around his limbs, and then up at Oswald. “What did you _do_ to me?”

Oswald slid off the desk and to his feet, straightening his jacket before he approached Edward. “You ought to be more worried about what I’m going to do to you _now_. Thank you for the clothes, by the way – I would have hated to have to do this in that sweater.”

“I would have hated that too, frankly.” Edward managed to roll himself onto his back, grunting and grimacing all the while. He eyed the glinting object in Oswald’s hand. “Why are you holding a _knife_ , when I have a _gun_?”

“This is slower,” said Oswald nonchalantly, dropping to his hunches before Edward. “You rather dragged out your deception, so I think it’s only fair I drag out my revenge.”

“You killed my _girlfriend_ , and then _lied_ about it in an attempt to get me into a relationship with _you_. It was _revenge_.”

“If you want to argue semantics, fine: you dragged out your ‘revenge’.” He grasped Edward by the front of his shirt, yanking him closer and dislodging a few buttons in the process. One of them ripped free and fell to the floor, rolling out of sight. He took his time with unbuttoning the rest of Edward’s shirt.

Try as Edward might to hide it, he wasn’t able to conceal his growing panic, sweat visible on his forehead and pupils blown so wide one could barely see the hazel of his irises.

Oswald could feel an almost imperceptible tremor as he slid a palm down the naked expanse of Edward’s chest. His skin was lovely and warm, just like the air in the room.

“Perhaps I should cut out your heart. I’d quite like the symbolism of that.” He delighted in the way Edward’s breath hitched. “What do you think, Nygma?”

Edward jaw tightened and he twisted away, pressing his cheek to the floor.

“No?” Oswald laughed low and quiet, dragging the flat off the knife across Edward’s chest, over a pink nipple. The chill of the blade elicited a shiver. “Since you’re not offering any input, I suppose I’ll just have to wing it.” He lifted the knife and pressed its blade to the jut of Edward’s collarbone, dragging it down and through the pliant flesh, listening to Edward gasp as skin split and blood spilt. Crimson slid down Edward’s chest in dark rivulets, staining the porcelain skin red.

Oswald watched Edward’s contorting face closely as he applied the knife below the first cut and drew it down. Edward’s lips parted and his eyes scrunched shut, likely against his volition, and the sounds he made – Oswald felt himself getting a little hot around the collar listening to him whimper like that. It was such a soft, breathy sound, almost like a moan.

He wasn’t entirely sure what compelled him to do it, but he released the knife and leaned over Edward’s chest, licking a stripe over the most recent cut, catching blood on the flat of his tongue. The taste of blood was one he was familiar with, hot and metallic. Not a taste he generally enjoyed, and yet he found himself swallowing despite that.

Edward went very still. Oswald was close enough that he could hear the rapid thud of his heart.

“Oswald?” Such a quiet, quivering voice.

Oswald reapplied his tongue to Edward’s chest, this time drawing out a soft hiss as he lapped at Edward’s lacerations. He ascended Edward’s body and dragged his tongue up the long column of Edward’s pale neck, reaching for his jaw, eager to feel Edward’s pulse against his mouth.

And there it was, thrumming hard and fast as he pressed a kiss to the warm skin, enjoying the way Edward gasped and shivered.

The lust that swept through Oswald shocked him with its intensity

This wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind, but he would adapt. He always did.

He rose just long enough to clamber down Edward’s impossibly long body, then he was upon Edward again, unzipping his trousers and dragging them down, bunching them around his narrow thighs. Oswald curled his fingers around the bulge straining against Edward’s boxers and grinned; evidently Edward Nygma was something of a masochist.

“You have little question marks on your underwear,” Oswald observed idly, giving Edward’s cock a squeeze and observing as Edward jerked and groaned. So sensitive. He must not have been very active with Isabella. Oswald wasn’t much for intimacy himself, but Edward Nygma was, as he always tended to be, an exception.

“Don’t,” Edward hissed, so Oswald gave him another squeeze, prompting Edward to throw his head back so hard that it smacked into the floorboards.

“That wasn’t very convincing.”

He removed his hand and pressed Edward’s thighs further apart with his palms, delving down to mouth the head of Edward’s cock through the fabric. Edward arched himself closer despite his voiced reluctance. He had to grasp Edward’s hips to restrain him, keeping him still while he traced the shape of Edward’s cock with his tongue.

The soft, whimpered, “Oswald,” Edward gave in response set Oswald’s nerves on fire.

“Yes, Ed?” he asked in as calm a voice as he could manage, which wasn’t very calm.

Though half-lidded eyes, he watched the tips of Edward’s ears turn red and his lips press firmly together; clearly he hadn’t meant to utter Oswald’s name so wantonly.

It was a most beautiful sight, Edward bound and blushing beneath him. He was so finely made that Oswald felt course and clumsy in comparison.

He resumed mouthing Edward’s cock, periodically moving away from his arousal to bite at the sensitive inside of a thigh or drag his teeth over the prominent jut of a hip. Edward was going to be thoroughly marked by the time Oswald was done. The cuts would scar, that was certain, and every time Edward saw them he would remember this day, remember how Oswald Cobblepot – _The Penguin_ – had debased him.

He’d had fantasies of this nature while working as mayor, albeit with a more mutual attraction. He’d never imagined he would one day get to enact them.

When Edward’s arousal was nice and hot and heavy, Oswald finally pulled it free of the boxers and sucked its underside, giving its base little strokes with his thumb and pointer finger. He waited until there was pre-come beading on the head before he extracted himself.

Edward didn’t quite manage to completely stifle a soft whimper at the loss of stimulation, and if that vexed him, he certainly wasn’t going to like what Oswald intended to do next.

Being as discreet as possible, he crawled over to where the spool of wire sat and tore off a lengthy piece, returning to Edward with it hidden in a fist. He didn’t particularly want to encounter resistance for this next part.

Before Edward could catch on to what he was doing, he looped the wire around the base of Edward’s cock, then his balls, and proceeded to secure them there with a little wire bow. They were tight enough to maintain the erection, but not enough to cut off blood flow entirely.

Edward stared at his handiwork through spread legs. “ _Sadist_.”

“Masochist.”

Edward’s only reply to that was to grunt.

“This isn’t going to be a very effective lesson if you enjoy every part of it,” continued Oswald. He gave Edward’s arousal a flick, drawing forth a rather pitiful whine. “Now, do you happen to have any lubrication in this apartment?”

“ _What_?”

“We could try without, but I know from experience that putting anything up there dry tends to be painful.”

Edward gaped at him, trying to pull himself up high enough to properly look Oswald in the eye. “You’ve want to – and you’ve – you actually put things-?“  He failed to find the words he was looking for and devolved into incoherent spluttering.

What little he provided was enough for Oswald to piece together what he was trying to ask. He might have been embarrassed were he not so painfully aroused right now. “I’m a gay man, Nygma, I felt obligated to give it a try.” It wasn’t much for him, if he was honest; he didn’t enjoy the way a sizable girth burned on the way in, and his prostate orgasms weren’t intense enough for him to want to do it with any regularity.

“You’re gay?”

Oswald gave him a very dry look. “I thought we established that when I – I confessed my love to you. Now…” He pulled himself to his feet. “Do you have anything we can use or not?”

Edward stuttered over his answer. “Only olive oil, but I don’t know if that’s hygienic. It- it tends to go rancid, and the odour- and Oswald, I really don’t think there’s enough… room…“

“If there wasn’t enough room, I’m pretty sure that would be some kind of medical condition.”

He saw Edward open his mouth, then close it. It was a very satisfying visual.

Oswald left Edward briefly to retrieve olive oil from the attached kitchen. While he was there, he grabbed himself a box of tissues as well, as this would inevitably be a messy event. Oswald had used lubrication enough while masturbating as a teen to know it tended to get everywhere, _especially_ in places you didn’t want it. He had one memorable experience of his mother asking where her bottle of Aloe Vera had gone and blushing so furiously that he’d had to pretend he had developed a spontaneous fever.

He returned to Edward and dropped to his knees before him, pulling Edward onto his side.

“Fair warning, I’ve never actually had sex with a man before.”

Edward cast him a worried glance. “So you have no idea what you’re doing?”

“I’m not quite _that_ inexperienced.”

“Try not to kill me. I don’t want ‘died via anal sex’ on my obituary.”

Oswald snorted, uncapping the olive oil. He slathered a generous amount on two fingers and yanked Edward’s boxers down his lily white ass, shoving them in with little concession for comfort. With how loud Edward yelped, one might have thought he’d just been shot.

Fortunately, there was no one around to hear him except Oswald.

“Nngh – god  – how could anyone _like_ this!”

“It hasn’t even been a minute. You have the pain threshold of a toddler, Nygma.”

The resistance was almost insurmountable as he pressed deeper. “Relax,” he murmured, attempting to soothe Edward’s anxiety by sliding his free hand up the small of his back, stroking small, soothing circles over the sweaty skin there. Edward took shallow breaths while he slowly stretched him. He was taking his time. Though his own cock was twitching in his trousers, painfully hard, Oswald had no intention of rushing to the main event. Not while he had Edward withering beneath his ministrations like a lecherous whore.  

He eventually opted to brace Edward’s legs against his shoulder, finding it easier to stretch him open in this position. Edward looked very much like he would have liked to cover his blushing face. His hair was disheveled, his skin sweaty and pink, and his lips parted; he was such a beautiful man.

Slowly but surely, the resistance he met with each twist of his fingers started to fade. Edward was relaxing despite his initial trepidation. He added more oil partway through, slicking up his fingers so he could add an additional two.

With four sliding inside with ease, Oswald was confident Edward was well-prepared enough to take a cock.

He removed his fingers, wiping them on Edward’s pant leg before unzipping himself and freeing his cock, slicking up its considerable girth with a handful of oil. He was a reasonably well-endowed man. The bigger the feet, the bigger the – as the saying went, and Oswald had often been teased over the size of his feet as a child.

Oswald moved Edward so he could see what awaited him.

“That’s not going to fit,” was the first thing out of his mouth, and Oswald had to laugh.

“I beg to differ.”

And he was right, because when he hoisted Edward into his lap and impaled him on his cock, he managed to slide halfway in without so much as a pause. Edward, for his part, cried out in what was undoubtedly a jarring mix of pleasure and pain. His head thudded against the floorboards again.

“Ed,” Oswald groaned. “You’re _tight_.”

“Not a good thing,” Edward croaked, which was another thing Oswald begged to differ on.

He pushed in deeper still, going little by little.

“Oh- oh lord,” whimpered Edward. “How big are you?”

Oswald released a breathy laugh, a little flattered. “Very big, evidently.”

Edward almost squealed when he was finally fully sheathed, and then he did, in fact, squeal when Oswald pulled out and slammed back in, settling into a steady rhythm.

His fuzzy mind could barely produce a comprehensive thought as he sunk in and out of that lovely tight heat. It was wonderful feeling, far better than the company of his hand.

A groan barrelled out of him and he re-adjusted his grip on Edward’s legs, holding them tight as he pulled his hips back and then snapped them forward. Each punishing thrust dragged a guttural cry from Edward’s throat and he could vaguely see Edward’s dick twitching, bright red and smudged with pre-come. Occasionally Oswald’s thrusts would be hard enough to send it smacking into Edward’s belly, and that made Edward cry out even louder, his entirely body shuddering from the overwhelming sensitivity.

Oswald almost wished he’d had the forethought to record this event. He wouldn’t have minded being lulled to sleep by the sound of Edward’s moaning every night.

He was startled out of his daze when Edward shuddered in his grasp and made the loudest sound yet – a drawn out _moan_ of his name that almost had Oswald climaxing right then and there, mere minutes after they had begun. He paused just long enough to appreciate the tail end of the moan, then continued with vigour, pounding in in hopes of striking that same place that had prompted such a response.

And he did, albeit haphazardly, and that was probably a good thing because Edward would shudder and moan and wither in his grasp each time he did, and Oswald was having a hard enough time keeping a grip on him as it was.

It was such bliss to watch Edward’s mouth move around the syllables of his name. He’d always felt a certain pleasure for it in the past, but now… this, right now, watching the man he loved utter his name while he inflicted terrible pleasure on his overwrought body, had to be the closest a man like him would ever get to rapture.

_The man he loved._

The thought brought him to an abrupt stop.

_The man he loved._

He was panting from the physical exertion, blinking sweat out of his eyes. His heart thundered painfully in his chest.

He was still in love with Edward.

“Wh-why’d you stop?” asked Edward in a disorientated murmur. Oswald might have found that endearing were his thoughts not a web of alarm and anxiety.  

Oswald swallowed, hard, still buried to this hilt inside Edward. “I need you on your knees,” he managed to whisper.

“Why?”

Oswald didn’t answer, grasping Edward by a hip and pulling him onto his front, holding him up with a forearm under his stomach. He resumed thrusting with his earlier vigour, but this time he made little effort to hit Edward sweet spot and instead focused on reaching orgasm.  

Edward seemed determined not to remain face down; perhaps it had something to do with his pride, and Oswald ended up having to curl a fist into his sweaty hair, pressing him hard into the floorboards so he wouldn’t have to see those beautiful dark brown eyes and those stunning pink cheeks and-

He was rather horrified to find this line of thought was what led to his orgasm.

Edward responded to the sudden rush of warmth with a lovely little gasp. Oswald clung onto him as he rode out his orgasm, hips jerking and body trembling with the force of it. He didn’t hear himself groan Edward name with such _longing_ , such _reverence_ , and perhaps that was the best, because Edward said nothing in return.

He was shaking when he finally withdrew. He grabbed himself a handful of tissues to wipe himself down with and tucked himself back into his trousers when he was sufficiently clean, zipping himself up.

His come slid down Edward’s ass and thighs as Edward’s struggled his way onto his back. Between heavy breaths, he asked, “Well, I don’t expect I’ll be able to sit comfortably anytime soon.”

“Good,” said Oswald, wiping sweat off of his brow with the sleeve of his jacket. His damaged leg was shaking badly when he rose to his feet. He still used it to kick the knife across the room. “You can use that to get out of your bindings. I’m sure you’ll manage. I-”

_Love you. I love you. I love you._

He pressed his fingers to his eyes, inhaling sharply.

“I need to go.”

“Go _where_?”

“That hardly matters to you.” He took long, hobbling strides for the exit, desperate to put as much distance between himself and his infatuation as fast as possible. He needed to go somewhere loud, somewhere he could suppress the horrible, gnawing realization that even attempted murder wasn’t enough to stop him from loving Edward Nygma.

Maybe nothing would ever be enough.

“Oswald?” He paused just long enough to hear Edward next words. “I missed you.”

He felt jubilation in his gut and acid in his throat.

And he stepped out the apartment, shutting the door behind him in silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Oswald examined the perfume container Ivy had presented to him. She had mentioned something about it needing sweat in order to work, but that was about all he had managed to absorb between plant jargon and her excited rambling about using it during one of her recent ventures.

“So, with this, you can control anyone?”

Ivy scratched idly at her neck. “Yeah, sort of. It’s a work in progress.”

“How so?”

“Well, it’s not meant to work for other people, for starters. Especially not guys.” She shrugged. “No offense.”

“None taken.”  

“And there needs to be attraction there for it to work, but I’m working on that.”

Oswald eyes widened. “Wait, there needs to be attraction?”

“Yeah,” said Ivy wryly. “I _just_ said that.”

“…Could I keep this bottle?”


End file.
